Concentration
by TooManyCats2
Summary: After the Black Wings castle, The Raven track down another band of the witch hunters. Hirad/Ilkar.


After the Black Wings castle, The Raven track down another band of the witch hunters. Hirad/Ilkar.

**Disclaimer:** Balaia and all its inhabitants are the work of James Barclay, not me!

Concentration

'Well, well, well.' said Hirad, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction. 'Revenge is sweet, but more revenge is even sweeter.' Thraun had just returned with the news that a large, well-armed patrol of Black Wings lay just over the next ridge, eating and laughing and completely oblivious to the destruction of their castle, and the subsequent approach of the Raven. Ilkar rolled his eyes and lay back, staring at the sky. The elf wasn't feeling nearly as chipper as Hirad. In fact, Ilkar thought sullenly, the barbarian had no right to be looking so cheerful after their near brush with death. After that terrible night of feeling Hirad slip away from him, and an even more terrible morning where, for just a moment, he had known his old friend was dead, Ilkar was still feeling shaken and jumpy.

'When's the last time you had a bath Hirad?' he asked snippily from the ground, digging a rock out from under his back and throwing it in Hirad's general direction. 'The Black Wings will smell us from a mile away.'

Hirad made a rude gesture in Ilkar's direction. The elf just smirked.

'Cut it out you two.' Denser said tiredly. 'We have a mission here, am I the only one who remembers that? We can't waste time hunting down every Black Wing in Balaia simply because you're hell-bent on revenge.'

Ilkar tensed. 'Denser!' he warningly, but it was too late. Hirad had crossed the camp and grabbed a fist-full of the mage's shirt before anyone had a chance to move.

'Oh can't we?' Hirad growled menacingly. 'It's because of you as much as them that Sirendor Larn is dead. That The Unknown is dead. That Richmond is dead. And it's entirely your fault that Ras is dead. I count that four Raven you've killed Denser, maybe I should start my revenge right here!' The barbarian's hand twitched towards his sword. Sol leapt towards them both, but Denser waved him away.

'I saved your life.' Denser said quietly. Hirad hesitated, then shoved the mage away with as much force as he could muster.

'Ilkar saved my life.' Hirad spat, a strange expression on his face, 'nearly at the expense of his own. But you saved Ilkar's life, and for that I won't kill you. Not yet anyway.' He strode out of the camp, needing the space to cool down before he could face Denser again. Damn the Xeteskian! Why did he always have to push like that?

'Oh, great work Denser.' Ilkar said sarcastically, watching the trees where his oldest friend had disappeared in a rage. 'If you provoke Hirad into killing you, not only will you _not_ have saved Balaia, but I'll have to deal with the mess afterwards. Can't you just keep your mouth shut?'

Erienne looked amused. 'You mean the way the rest of you are so good at keeping your mouths shut?'

Ilkar looked briefly flummoxed, but then he chuckled and lay back down again. The elf figured he'd better rest while he could, between dealing with Hirad and taking revenge on the Black Wings, it was going to be a busy afternoon.

Less than an hour, and much arguing later, the Raven had moved out. Denser would fly Erienne in on ShadowWings, to hit the middle of the camp with FlameOrbs. They would then fly out of range again. Hirad would ride in holding Ilkar to make sure the mage didn't slip from the saddle while he cast. They were to be bait for the remaining witch hunters, who would waste their arrows on Ilkar's HardShield, whilst the rest of the Raven crept up behind the camp. Splitting up had been Denser's idea, and one Hirad had strongly objected to, but even Ilkar had eventually admitted it was a good plan.

While they rode, Hirad seethed. Not only was it Denser's fault that they were hurtling pell-mell across the countryside to almost certain death, he was trying the keep the Raven from their rightful revenge along the way. Ilkar, Hirad reflected, had been right. Never trust a Xeteskian.

'Hirad?' Ilkar said, interrupting his thoughts. Hirad grunted a reply, still annoyed that Ilkar had sided with Denser on the issue of splitting up.

'You're thinking about Denser aren't you?' The elf said, ears pricking in annoyance.

'How could you possibly know that?' Hirad asked, surprised.

'Oh, you know. Mystical mind powers.' The elf said sarcastically. 'Plus, you're crushing me, and grinding your teeth.'

'Oh.' Hirad said sheepishly, loosening his grip a little.

'Thanks a bunch.' Ilkar grumbled, settling down, ready to cast the HardShield that would prevent the Black Wings from peppering them with arrows. The elf's lean, muscled back lent against the barbarian's chest, his head turned to the side so that it rested against the curve of his shoulder. Hirad suddenly felt nervous. Normally he was hardly even aware of the elf in front of him, but memories of that night kept coming back to him. Of leaning into Ilkar's chest while the mage cradled him, keeping him alive by fatally draining his own life into Hirad. Of waking, to see those eyes looking down at him anxiously, darkened with worry and fear. And something else. Something deeper.

Hirad tried to settle into the rhythm of the ride, but for the first time since they had started riding together ten years before, he found himself distracted. Instead of concentrating on speed, manoeuvring the horse around obstacles, and generally trying to keep them both alive, Hirad suddenly found he was spending more time looking at the long curve of Ilkar's throat, the soft wave of his dark hair where it fell across his closed eyes, the twitch of his long, elegant fingers as they expertly worked the mana shape. It suddenly struck Hirad how well they fitted together. He shook his head. He was obviously still feeling the effects of Erienne's WarmHeal.

'Shield up' Ilkar muttered a second later, his mouth bare inches from Hirad's neck. The barbarian shuddered, feeling the warmth of the elf's breath, seeing in his mind's eye the concentration on his face, the curve of his mouth. Hirad suddenly realised that instead of holding the mage like a sack of flour, admittedly a sack of flour that was keeping them from being skewered by enemy arrows, he was instead cradling the Julatsan like a precious gem, or, Hirad thought wistfully, an ale.

Soon Hirad steered them into a copse of trees atop a small rise. Scanning the skies for a signal from Denser and Erienne, Hirad let his mind drift. It was curious, he thought absently, that in all the years Ilkar had trusted the Raven to keep him safe while he cast, it was only Hirad that he allowed to hold him while they rode.

Ilkar's voice brought him back to the present. 'Hirad?' he asked, his voice distant with concentration, the slightly concerned tone telling the barbarian that this wasn't the first time his name has been called.

'Yes?' he answered, an unexpected edge creeping into his tone. He hoped the elf hadn't picked up on his thoughts again.

'Oh nothing.' Ilkar retorted, somewhat sarcastically. 'I was just wondering why you were staring at me with a glazed look on your face. I thought you might have re-injured yourself and weren't going to tell me so you didn't break my concentration. I can hold this spell fairly well you know. I've only been doing it for oh... ten years? But anyway, I thought you might be dying. Nothing serious.' Ilkar finished his tirade, and worn out with lingering nerves, settled back down with a huff. Hirad smiled, a vague suspicion forming into a certainty. Ilkar felt the change in mood straight away.

'What?' the elf asked in irritation, shifting so he could look the barbarian in the face. 'I don't see anything funny about our current situation.'

'Neither do I.' said Hirad softly, 'But I do see the elf who saved my life at the risk of his own. Who won't let anyone else carry him while he casts, not even The Unknown. Why is that, I wonder?'

Ilkar's pointed ears reddened, his eyes searching his friend's face just long enough for Hirad to be completely sure he was right. The elf shifted guiltily in the saddle, unintentionally bringing them closer together. With the cat-like reflexes of a veteran mercenary Hirad's hand snaked up Ilkar's neck, his calloused fingers twining in the elf's thick, dark hair, forcing him to stillness. Their eyes met, Ilkar's holding a feral light, with a hint of fear, Hirad's blazing like steel catching the sun. Their mouths met and held hungrily.

If Hirad had expected anything, he would have expected a soft sensual kiss, from Ilkar's soft, sensuous mouth. But it was a hard kiss, an uncompromising kiss, a kiss that demanded and fought for the upper hand. A warrior's kiss. 'Shield down' muttered Ilkar against Hirad's mouth, a small smile flickering across his face. 'So much for not breaking my concentration.'

'Ilks?' Hirad muttered.

'Yes?'

'Shut up.'

Above the Black Wing camp, Erienne signalled to the waiting Raven to hold their cover.

'I told you.' she said smugly to Denser, who had almost dropped them out of the sky with shock.

'Well I'll be damned'. Denser muttered. 'Maybe Hirad is capable of thinking of more than just ale and revenge.'


End file.
